


Trust Issues

by storm_of_sharp_things



Series: Assassins at Play [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Light Bondage, Voyeurism, gentle Dom/sub, playful breathplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-24 14:17:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18166289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storm_of_sharp_things/pseuds/storm_of_sharp_things
Summary: She and Hawkeye are assassins from different organizations, brought together by the Avenger Initiative and the threat to Earth. They work well together. But when they play...<-- or -->One time Clint's firm voice worked and one time it didn't.





	Trust Issues

**Author's Note:**

> Lightly edited 4/19/19
> 
> Marvel characters are not mine, but are delightfully welcome when they decide to cavort through my head. Macha is mine and I certainly won't complain when she decides she wants to play.

 

Clint sighed and rubbed at the back of his head. Sometimes, he mused to himself, the observer sees too much, with far too little effort, even with as many people as there currently were in the conference room.

Stark’s pleasure was as distinct as it was petty as he settled all the way back in his chair to watch the show. He had no sides in the current argument between Thor and Macha; Stark detested Thor’s superior attitude and thoughtless arrogance, but he was wary of Macha for many reasons. Clint knew Tony had never forgotten waking up one night a few years prior to find the Circle assassin sitting astride him with a knife to his throat, eyeing him thoughtfully while she considered whether or not to fulfill the contract the Circle had been offered for his removal. Clint knew this because Tony had _never shut up about it_ since Macha had joined the Avengers. She also mocked him frequently when he let his mouth run, and he was enough aware of how dangerous she was that it kept him on a semblance of good manners when she was around, which he absolutely hated. Clint watched him nudge Banner in the ribs and murmur something about popcorn.

Bruce passed him a mild sideways glare and leaned back from the conference room table and the ‘discussion’ under way between Macha and Thor. Bruce’s clear discomfort with the ongoing argument was something to keep in mind as a potentially complicating factor should the situation escalate, but he seemed to have himself in hand at the moment. He and Macha had history and Bruce obviously trusted her, though he also disapproved of her hobby of baiting the more susceptible Avengers. Clint mentally tagged him as ‘back-burner-but-keep-an-eye-on-in-case-of-escalation.’

Steve Rogers sat perfectly upright in his seat, lips pressed together and hands flat on the table. _His_ conflict was obvious; while he agreed with Macha’s points about Thor’s careless behavior, he had no good way to break in and express his disapproval of her approach without making it worse. Though he was nominally the team leader, he had no direct authority over the assassin who was here as a liaison between SHIELD and the powerful Circle, and, while Macha worked beautifully within the team in the field, she was far too much the independent operator off it. Not to mention how much she enjoyed mildly embarrassing Steve’s old-fashioned sensibilities.

Thor himself was red-faced and almost to the pounding-the-table stage as Macha interrupted his sputtering justifications time after time with sharp comments about his family's relationship issues, his own poorly-thought out actions, and the corpulent likelihood of success on his current path.

Natasha, damn her, was clearly amused, lounging in her chair with legs crossed and hands clasped lightly in her lap. She’d be no help at all - she and Macha got along _alarmingly_ well, competitive but almost sisterly despite the fact that Macha had defeated her in every sparring match Clint had seen. Natasha would yield and immediately demand to be taught whatever technique Macha had used. Together, they'd taken down Steve a couple of times, which might have a bit to do with his reluctance to fight women, but they were frankly terrifying when they worked as a team. They'd apparently taken down Thor too, but Clint hadn't witnessed it himself, and the cameras in the gyms tended to go on the fritz while they were working out. Natasha's contribution to their mystique, probably.

Thor’s sudden deep inhalation indicated his immanent loss of control and settled Clint’s decision for him.

“Macha,” he said firmly.

She turned, mid-sentence, with an eyebrow raised then quirked her mouth almost invisibly and settled back against her seat with a tiny huff of breath.

Thor’s mouth hung open as he stared at Macha, then at Clint.

Tony’s jaw dropped and he came out of his seat, flailing a gesture at Macha. “What the…what the _holy fuck_ just happened right there?”

Bruce smacked his arm down as Macha turned a dire eye on Stark.

Clint lightly touched his fingertips to the back of her neck and she lowered her gaze and then her head infinitesimally.

“Did you just…did anybody else…did you _see_ that…and no one’s going to _say_ anything about _that_?”

Bruce grabbed Tony’s arm and dragged him back down into his seat. “Now. Is. _Not_. The. _Time_.” he hissed in Tony’s ear.

“Now is _absolutely_ the ti-” Natasha kicked him under the table and he shut up with a glare at the smirking spy.

Macha’s mouth twitched and she raised her gaze to Steve with a small inclination of her head, clearly passing the baton.

“Well,” Steve started, highlighting his own startled comprehension with an embarrassed blush. “So.” He cleared his throat, not making eye contact with anyone at the table. “I think we should take a break and come back this afternoon to plan out a different, umm, plan of attack. Yes.” He glanced almost frantically at Clint and blushed again. “So. See everyone back here, umm, later. This afternoon.” He pushed his chair back and hastily left the conference room, pushing a blinking Thor out ahead of him.

Natasha grinned at Macha, slid a wink at Clint and headed after Steve, grabbing Tony by the collar as she passed. “Come on, Stark, I'm _sure_ there's some sort of science just waiting to be done.”

Tony squawked as he was hauled to his feet and out of the room. “Hey, no, wait! I want an answer! Hey! Have some respect for the shirt!”

Bruce sighed and held the bridge of his nose for a moment before pushing out of his chair. He met Macha’s amused look with a shake of his head and a wry smile. “Your quirks…” he said affectionately. He tossed an awkward but heartfelt salute to Clint. “And you have _all_ my respect, Agent Barton.” He pulled a tablet out of his jacket pocket, absently tugging the poorly-fitting garment even more off-kilter, and wandered off down the hallway, tapping away with laser focus as he lightly bumped into walls and the occasional amused SHIELD passerby.

Clint rested his hand on the nape of Macha’s neck, his thumb caressing the sensitive spot at the corner of her jaw. “One of these days we should talk about you and Banner.”

“One of these days we will.” She tilted her head to give him better access.

“But not today,” he said with a smile, applying gentle, then not so gentle, pressure underneath her jawbone at the pulse point.

She inhaled, a slightly unsteady breath. “You've already silenced me once today. In public.”

“And you were about as submissive as you're likely to get, in public.” He slid his hand up into her hair, twisting into it and pulling her head back.

She exhaled roughly, almost a moan, and bit her bottom lip, arching her throat in a graceful offering. He could see the effort she put to relax into it. “I know it's harder for you right now,” he murmured into her ear, stroking a finger along the curve of her arched throat. “You were just tearing into a demi-god and now everyone is very aware that you bend to me.”

She shivered, hands clenching against her thighs, then deliberately relaxed them, spreading her fingers out separately.

He nipped sharply at her throat, savoring the shudder that wracked her even as she tried to control it.  His cock was already half-hard from watching her struggle to give in, but he had no desire to proceed further without a bed. “This is too delicious for a conference room, danger kitten.  Up and to your room.” He enjoyed her glare as he released her and indicated that she should walk ahead of him. He knew that being behind her, out of easy view, would claw at her awareness, already aroused to an edge by his dominant teasing. She was a member of one of the most dangerous groups of assassins in the world, had dozens of deadly men that would bow to her every order or whim, and he delighted in her submission, even as it baffled him that she indulged in it. But right now she was his, she surrendered to his touch, his desires…

“I can hear you gloating back there.”

“Stop sulking, kitten. You may tempt me to not restrain you.”

He heard her breath catch. She preferred him to use physical restraints; though she could break them, it made it easier for her to let go of control. Forcing her to restrain herself took her much deeper along a very fine line of control and surrender.

“We…don't have time for that before this afternoon’s meeting,” she stated, not _quite_ a protest. He could tell it wasn't entirely whole-hearted.

“Mmm,” he replied, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. It was true that they didn't really have the time to indulge in an all-out session, but he wasn't about to assure her of that just yet.

She shivered and walked on, neck and shoulders tense as he followed just within arm’s reach of her, enough to trigger a reaction to his proximity, without giving her the reassurance of contact. It was winding her up, making her overly alert and wary, keeping her entirely in the moment.

She paused in front of the door to her room, glancing sidelong at him, and he waited out her moment of rebellion, watching her with a steady calm. The corners of her mouth turned up and she ducked her head, opening the door and slipping in.

“I suppose you want me naked,” she said.

“Unless you prefer me to cut off your clothes once you're on the bed.”

She considered that, then smiled and started stripping. “As much as I'd enjoy that, I'd run out of clothes and then I'd have to go shopping.“

“The horror,” he agreed, moving to her dresser. Opening the top drawer, he pulled out a handful of beautiful ombré silk scarves, running them through his fingers caressingly.

She stood naked before the bed, bottom lip caught in her teeth as she watched him play with the silk.

He held the scarves up. “Yes?”

She nodded. “Please.”

“On your stomach. Hands under your cheek, facing away. Eyes closed.” He dropped the scarves on the bed by her head and stripped himself, watching the tiny muscles in her back and legs twitch as she waited and listened for every movement he made.

She managed to suppress her jump as he touched the small of her back, but he could tell she was wonderfully worked up. He slid over her to kneel astride her thighs, opening the small pot of unscented oil he'd also taken from the top drawer. Scooping some into his hands, he rubbed them together to warm the oil, then pressed his hands into her shoulder blades and began spreading the oil into her skin. She tensed and then moaned and melted as he worked the knots and tightness out of her muscles, oiling her from neck and shoulders down her back, lingering to knead at old scars. He used the heels of his hands to work her backside and thighs as the heavy muscles resisted the pressure, dragging muffled groans from her, and used his thumbs and knuckles on her taut calves. He worked the tiny bones in her feet, flexing them and the fan of muscles that wrapped down from around her ankles.

She lay puddled against the bed, and it took a couple taps against the side of her thigh before she reluctantly turned over. He could smell her scent rising as she arranged her legs, slightly open, in clear invitation as she watched him through half-closed eyes. He waited with a little smile until she lifted her arms to rest above her head before starting to stroke oil lightly up her legs to her knees. He kneaded her thighs hard, pressing them apart to tease along the creases where her legs joined her hips. He rubbed his hands together to generate warmth and cupped one hand over her mound, but made sure her clit had no contact, and leaned to bite and suck bruises along the inside of her thigh. She quivered and made a quiet noise and he looked up to see that she had a spot of blood on her mouth where she'd held her bottom lip too hard.

He surged up her body to swoop down on her mouth, licking along her lips and sucking on the swollen spot. When he lifted his head, she gazed at him, a little unfocused, panting, fingers twisting into the sheets above her head.

He shifted to sit cross-legged on the bed, his back leaning against the wall, and tugged her over to sit on his lap, her back to his chest, his cock pressing between his stomach and the small of her back, her legs spread very wide to drape over his thighs. He stroked oil down her arms to her hands, massaging her palms and fingers, then placed her hands on her knees, tapping them to indicate that she should keep them there. She nodded, dropping her head back to rest against his shoulder. He reached around her, beneath her arms, and placed one hand on her stomach and the other around the front of her throat. He pressed at and circled the pulse points under her jaw, the hollow of her throat.

She took deep breaths through her mouth, dragging past the pressure when he applied it. His other hand circled her breasts, cupping them and lightly pinching her nipples. She moaned deep in her throat as he gently pulled at them. Her thighs tensed over and over as her arousal built, her hips twitching as she struggled to stay still in his lap. She started a slight side to side motion that slid the oiled skin of her back against his cock and he allowed it for a lingering moment, savoring the friction, before tightening his grip on her throat for a moment to make her stop.

She gasped a breath past his fingers and he turned the pressure into a caress as his other hand slipped down to tease along the edge of her pubic hair and past to stroke the insides of her thighs. She arched against him, a little moan escaping her as she clenched her fingers on her knees.

He slid his hand up her thigh and lightly brushed one finger against her clit. She made a guttural pleading sound and her hips jerked. Her circled her clit twice before brushing against it again, then slid his finger down to test her slick entrance. Her hands flew up to grasp at his arms and he stopped immediately and waited. She slowly dropped them again with a little whimper of frustration.

It was time and probably past time for the restraints. Besides, he wasn't sure how much longer he could hold out himself. He needed to be inside her soon.

“On your knees, arms folded behind your back.” He gave her a little push, and where anyone else might understandably struggle with the awkward shift of positions from his lap to their knees, she managed it with grace and even settled with some elegance into the pose; shoulders back, chest pushed forward by the folding of her arms behind her, hands cupping elbows, kneeling with knees together and the tops of her feet flat and relaxed against the bed.

He reached past her for the scarves and twisted them into soft but serviceable ropes, binding each wrist to the opposite arm. One he folded into a blindfold, carefully braiding back her hair before tying it around her eyes.

Then he pressed between her shoulder blades, folding her forward to present her backside. She shivered, her face turned to one side and pressed to the bed, shoulders working a little to pull and test the restraints.

He tapped her ankles and she shuffled her knees apart, backside lifting as her back arched. She was slick, and more than ready for him, and she moaned as he brushed his knuckles along her slit, then cried out as he spanked her, open-handed. He loved the way her skin showed his handprints. He loved her noises. He brushed her clit again and spanked the other side, repeating until her hips were trembling and she couldn't keep quiet, and then he needed to have her. He settled between her ankles and slowly pushed himself into her; slick and ready as she was, he tested her depth, and his control, all the way down, until he was as deep into her as he could get and she was gripping him with muscles inside herself and his fingers were digging into her hips to hold their bodies together and she kept making those pleading sounds and the heat at the base of his spine rose like a serpent up into his head and he had to move.

He was thrusting and then he was slamming into her and she was clenching around his cock and then he was coming like his body was trying to pour itself through his hips.

And then he was leaning over her back trying to breath and she was making more desperate pleading sounds as she shifted around his softening cock. He slid out and brusquely flipped her over on her back, pushing her thighs apart and burying his mouth against her clit, licking and sucking the nub while he brutally held her thighs down to the bed with his hands. Her body heaved under him as she came, wildly crying out. He worked her through the aftershocks, gentling after each, until he was just nuzzling her as she panted. He waited until she had drawn several deeper breaths before rolling her to her stomach again and untying her, massaging her shoulders and arms until she was limp against the bed and he felt he could collapse beside her, ensuring a couple of points of skin to skin contact and then he was dozing off.

 

<——€€€

 

When he surfaced later, Macha lay on her side, back to the wall and facing him on the bed, tracing his spine with lazy fingers. He was face-down in the pillow and flattened, delightfully relaxed.

“Can you breathe like that?” she asked with a low laugh. She poked his ribs, provoking a protesting rumble. She poked again until he turned his head enough to bring one baleful eye to bear on her and his growl cleared the edge of the pillow.

“It is obscene how fast you bounce back from a session.”

She grinned at him, throwing her arms over her head and pointing her toes in a luxurious full-body stretch. “It is obscene how good I feel right now.” She trailed her hands down her body, lingering to tease particularly sensitive spots.

He settled his head to the side, cheek resting against his hands, and admired his marks on her. Light fingerprints at throat, much darker ones at hips and thighs that were almost full handprints. Bite-marks dotted among and along existing scars of edged weapons and the gods only knew what else. Her skin was a map of violence stretched taut over an exactingly-trained weapon and that she wore his temporary imprints with pleasure and satisfaction…god, he was getting hard again.

The corner of her mouth turned up at his quickening interest. “I thought you’d have taken longer.”

His breath caught as she teased at her own nipple and stroked across a bruise on her thigh. “You could raise the dead, witch.”

She held her bottom lip in her teeth and reached for him, then sighed and dropped her arm. He frowned at her, pressing up on his arms, then turned his head toward the door as a couple of staccato knocks sounded and the door handle twisted back and forth.

“Thirty-second warning,” Natasha called out.

“The door _is_ locked, Nat,” he muttered, then dropped his face back into the pillow, scrabbling beside him for some corner of the sheet. “Not that it'll hold her for that long.”

Macha sighed and stroked his spine soothingly, pulling the sheet up over his backside.

“Oh, am I interrupting?” Natasha asked with a grin, throwing the door open theatrically.

Clint growled something profane into the pillow.

“And hello to you too,” she said, appraising them both as she sauntered over to the bed. “Nice marks, Macha. That sort of thing never worked out for us. He was always wanting to be in charge, never wanting to lose control.” She smacked his sheet-covered ass affectionately.

Clint felt a warm blush spread and fought it pointlessly, chewing the pillow.

“Really,” Macha drawled. “I haven't found that to be the case at all. We do trade back and forth quite a bit, as it happens.”

“Really!” Nat hopped onto the bed and onto him, settling cross-legged on top of his backside with her elbow resting on one knee and her chin cradled in her hand. “Do tell!” When he pushed up to throw her off, she popped the pressure points at his elbows, dropping him back to the bed.

“This,” he informed the pillow, “is entirely unfair. I have done nothing to deserve this and I have no idea why it is even happening.”

He could hear Natasha’s smirk. “Thor has legged it back to Asgard to ‘sort something out’ mumble mumble et cetera et cetera. So this afternoon’s meeting is off, much to Steve’s relief. I don't think _he's_ been able to meet anyone's eyes yet without blushing. Banner has apparently decided that some universal constant really isn't after all and Stark is flailing equations at him in a desperate attempt to shore up modern physics, so neither of them is even remotely fun at the moment. I'm bored. You're here. Simple, really.”

“And yet I still don't want it to _be_ happening…”

“Hush you. Macha, you must give me more details.”

“Must I indeed?” Macha quirked an eyebrow. “Before or after the silk scarves?”

“Bah, I don't want details of _that_ , I mean of you taking him.”

“Nope, nope, nope, this is in no way happening…” Clint attempted to press up again and got his elbows tapped again for his trouble. “No, Natasha. No and no twice. Thrice even. Is that a word? Never mind. _No_.”

He flicked a glance at Macha and felt mild alarm spiral up from his stomach. Her eyes were sparkling and her mouth was curved up at one corner. “Macha, no.”

“Exactly this!” Natasha bounced on him slightly. “He’s already pleading. And you’ve never refused to demonstrate yet.”

He gathered the tatters of his dignity and tried to put the authority back into his voice. “Macha.”

She considered him with a gentle smile. It was the corners of her eyes that held the predatory promise, he thought warily. Something, anyway, that told him she was entertaining the idea. And then he saw the flash of decision and she was sitting up.

“Natasha.” She pointed across the small room to the lone chair by the tiny desk. “You will not move from that chair. You will not be allowed to touch him. And you will not say a word. You may touch yourself as needed, and you are allowed noises you cannot control. If these rules are acceptable to you, say you understand and take your seat.”

“Da, ya ponimayu,” she breathed, sliding off him and hurriedly settling into the chair.

Clint turned to face Macha and opened his mouth but she already had her fingers touching his mouth.

“Shh. Pause a moment. Are you just embarrassed or do you really not want this?”

He put Natasha's presence to the back of his mind and studied Macha’s face. She had an almost effortless poker face but her pulse said her blood was up. Her fingers were either trembling slightly or she was trying not to pet his mouth. He knew, gods above and below he knew, how good they were together in either role, and having someone watch, someone trusted, was not the problem. Anyway, his cock had already voted, he realized ruefully.

Macha nodded slowly, once, and licked her lips. His cock twitched at the promise of the smile that curled her mouth. “Say it, Clint.” She caressed the back of his neck while holding his gaze.

He smiled. “No.”

She laughed and tangled her fingers in his hair. “Clint.”

He shook his head, not trusting his mouth when she stared at him like a tiger considering prey.

She contemplated him, heavy-lidded and deceptively lazy, and touched her thumb to his mouth. He kissed the pad of it, lowering his gaze.

“Ahh,” she said softly and slid close to nestle her mouth against his ear. “You know I would never truly force you, but you do want to be persuaded.”

He didn't meet her eyes, but he did smile.

She nudged at his shoulder with her mouth, wanting him on his back. When he didn't move, she nipped him, then braced and rolled them both over and knelt over his stomach.

And then she was on his mouth, pressing the point that opened his jaw to her. Her tongue swiped hungrily against his and his hands came up to hold her to him. She growled, pulling back to stare at him, and slowly, not looking away, he lifted his arms over his head and clasped his hands together. She made a noise of approval deep in her throat, just like any pleased cat, and dived back into his mouth. He clenched his fingers, hard, and shut his eyes when she nipped his lip and worked her teeth down the side of his throat. She wasn't biting hard enough to leave marks, he thought, and then she _was_ , where his neck met his shoulder, and he shifted his hips in reaction and discovered she was settling fully astride him. His eyes flew open as he felt her, slick and hot, pressing his cock up against his body, and then she lifted herself away again just as he moved to slide against her. He groaned and shut his eyes again, grasping at the bed above his head, knowing she'd only started the taunting. The air cooled the wetness she’d left on him, then she was sliding against him again and he was warm and then cooling again as she lifted, and then warm again, and he made a pleading sound without realizing it until she laughed.

“You are such a cat,” he groaned, turning his head to scrub his face against his arm.

She tapped her fingers against his cheek to get his attention and he opened his eyes and focused on her. She pressed his arms to the bed warningly and he nodded, breath catching as she slid down his body to straddle his thighs. He clenched his teeth and moaned behind them as she tormented his nipples, nipping and tugging with her teeth until he was squirming, little sparks of electric pain and pleasure shooting straight to his groin. She worked a symmetrical pattern of bite marks down his stomach to the creases of his hips, sliding down his legs to hover over his cock, teasing breaths against the length of him as she wrapped her hand around his balls and tugged, massaging them in their sac and lightly pinching the loose skin. Then her warm wet mouth was around him, tongue dragging along the underside of his cock, and he clutched at the sheets overhead, struggling to keep his hips on the bed.

“Clint.” Cool air replaced her mouth and he opened his eyes. She moved over his hips, supporting herself up on her knees and one hand while the other reached out to hold his chin.

“I'm going to ride you now but you may not come yet. You need to tell me before reach that point. Can you do that?”

He took a shaky breath and nodded.

“You need to _tell_ me you can do that,” she said warningly.

“I…I can do that,” he husked.

She caressed his mouth and glanced over to the side. Abruptly he realized he was hearing little stifled sounds and looked over to see Natasha, sprawled in the chair, one hand thrust down inside her pants and the other pressed to her mouth.

He breathed a low laugh and met Macha’s grin with his own. She’d distracted him enough that he thought he could hold out for awhile, the sly cat. At least for pride’s sake, he'd like to know Natasha had come first.

Macha reached between her legs and held him, settling down on him with a lascivious little wiggle. He groaned, shutting his eyes.

“Clint.”

He blinked at her, and she held her hands out. “Give me your hands. Slowly,” she added as he winced. He worked his fingers free of the twisted bed linens and rolled his shoulders to help lift his aching arms from above his head.

She took his hands. “Stay flat and let me pull.”

He nodded and she leaned back, pulling his arms straight. He bit his lip, feeling his cock shift in her but also distracted by the achy stretch in his stiff muscles and joints. She swayed back upright and settled his hands on the bed outside of her knees. She tapped the backs of his hands and he nodded again, understanding that he was to keep them there.

Then her hands were resting on his chest and she rolled her hips, a tiny frown of concentration furrowing her brow as she selectively clenched muscles inside her cunt.

“Kegel exercises, Natasha, are barely a start.” Her mouth quirked in a quick smile at his groan and Nat’s muffled moan. “Just like all muscles, save of course the involuntary ones, with practice comes very fine control. And it is a _very_ intimate practice indeed,” she sighed as she worked her hips up and down him.

He couldn't be sure around the blood pounding in his ears, but it sounded like a string of very stifled Russian curses drifting across the room.

“There are few things to compare to the feel of a hard warm cock filling you deep within…”

“ _Macha_ ,” he groaned.

She laughed wickedly and leaned over to suck at his bottom lip. “You all right so far?”

“Not…for much longer…”

“Hah. Well then.” She straightened her back, one hand pinching and pulling a nipple, the other settling to cup her mound, fingers teasing across her clit. He groaned again as she clenched around him and then she was riding him, head thrown back and fingers almost spasmodically rubbing at herself. She chewed her lip fiercely until she came, her mouth dropping open as she cried out, hips jerking, interior muscles spasming around him. He distantly heard an echoed cry from elsewhere in the room but he was concentrating desperately on the feel of the sheets knotted in his grip, trying to breathe past the need to move, to thrust, to hold…

He re-focused wildly as Macha picked up his hands and placed them on her hips. He panted at her in desperation.

“Clint, _now_ ,” she ordered, pressing his fingers firmly. He grabbed on and pounded up into her as she squeezed around him, tightening as he gasped and then he was coming and nothing in the world mattered but the heat and slickness and pressure around his cock and the flesh under his fingers and he heard her cry out again and felt her fingers brush against his cock as she worked herself and rode out another spasming orgasm around him.

Macha leaned over him, panting, palm against his shoulder, fingers trembling. He lifted his hands away from her hips to tug her down against him, his softening cock slipping a little. She made a little complaining noise against his collarbone but reached down between their bodies to grasp him and slide off, settling his cock with a gentle caress.

He exhaled, feeling the roughness of his throat and glanced at the bedside table just as she pushed herself up and reached out for one of the water bottles perched there. She slid off him and encouraged him to roll to his side and sit up before she unscrewed the top and offered it to him. He drank slowly, watching her take another bottle in hand and move to stand in front of Natasha. She cupped the Natasha's cheek and offered her the water, stroking her shoulder as she drank.

“That…” Natasha said finally. “That was… _magnificent_.”

Clint let his head fall back against the wall as Macha settled back beside him on the bed.

“No, now,” she murmured, petting him. “No embarrassment necessary.”

“Yeah, kinda it is.” He turned his head to glare at Natasha. “ _Now_ will you go away?”

She laughed breathily as she stood and made a show of re-arranging her clothing. “I’ll want a repeat demonstration,” she informed Macha.

Macha raised an eyebrow. “Possibly that could be arranged after you've practiced a bit on your own. There's no reason to show you new techniques until you've proven you have learned the current ones.”

Natasha grinned, head tilting to the side coquettishly. “But I’ll need someone to practice _on_.”

“Then perhaps you will stop circling Steve Rogers and make a definite move. Subtle pursuit is wasted on that one.”

Clint snickered. “Poor Steve. I should warn him…” He laughed outright at the murderous glare Nat threw in his direction as she flounced toward the door.

Macha waited until she was gone and the door shut, locking automatically, before she collapsed beside him, cheek resting against his thigh.

He stroked her hair affectionately and lightly touched one of the bruises on her throat, watching her exhaled in contentment, chin tilting up to stretch the bruise.

He worked a hand under her head and lifted it enough to allow him to slide down. When he’d settled alongside her, he laid her head back against his shoulder. “Can we sleep now?”

“Are you asking for permission?”

“Do I have to?”

She laughed against his skin, wrapping an arm and a leg over him.

“We’re done playing. Rest.”


End file.
